


The door was closed, and as I put my hand on the handle, I felt afraid of what we might find.

by i_am_mycroft_holmes



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 08:22:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_mycroft_holmes/pseuds/i_am_mycroft_holmes
Summary: It's just a 500 word story from that work title prompt. It's not meant to be amazing. I'm trying to make my writing better though, so if you want to read it, it might take 5 minutes at most.If you do read it and want to leave a comment, please do.





	The door was closed, and as I put my hand on the handle, I felt afraid of what we might find.

The door was closed, and as I put my hand on the handle, I felt afraid of what we might find.  
I turned to my best friend who was behind me, holding a torch. It had been her idea to look around this house anyway. I say house, it was more of a mansion. Left to rot, pity really. There were suggestions, the merest hints of what it had been like in the old days. The chandelier, covered in dust and still fitted with lightbulbs. The smashed mirrors in the bedroom. The brown stain of old blood on the bed.  
It had been left years ago, back in the 1980’s from what I’d been told. A husband had murdered his wife, and never been caught. The husband had just disappeared. The rumour went that he’d smashed the mirrors so his wife couldn’t see her beauty before stabbing her with a shard of glass.  
The crime scene photos had been released into the newspapers at the time. It was almost poetic really, she’d been dressed in a white nightgown, with a red stain that blossomed from the shard embedded in her chest, on a dark coloured bedspread.  
It was rumoured that she haunted the house, that’s why it was empty and in ruins, her ghost hadn’t given anyone a chance to live in the house, it had screamed at night, it had hidden records or photos that had been placed in the house by the new residents. Who lasted three days. That was it.  
Anyway, Beth. Bold of heart little Beth, barely a month older than I had suggested we go. It had been left alone for years, no-one dared to go near it with the ghost in the house. We’d explored the house, finding the bed, exactly as it had been described all those years ago, and with the blood stain too. We’d heard a noise, a high pitched sort of wailing noise, and we’d followed it. To the basement door. My hand was on the handle.  
The noise was louder here. But sort of familiar, oddly familiar, actually. With instruments in the background. Either there was a ghostly orchestra or someone was playing music.  
I pushed down on the handle and heard a sort of soft screech, and the music stopped.  
Beth shone the light in the room, and we both stopped in the open doorway. We hadn’t expected that.  
The wife, the one from the photos was sitting there, painting her nails a pale purple, whilst another woman, younger, stopped midway through dancing around the room.  
They were both wearing pyjamas, not the old fashioned kind. The kind that you could buy in the shops, now, from Primark or something.  
“You’re in my house?” Said the wife.  
“You’re not dead?” Beth countered.  
“God no. I never was. My husband was cheating on me. It was his blood. That mirror shard was sharp though.” She laughed. “I’ve been living down here for years. Luce gets my shopping, attends to my needs. I’m just waiting for the police to find Charles’ body. I left it in the garden with a tombstone.”


End file.
